


saint bernard

by lambchops (lambmeat)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Creampie, First Time Bottoming, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Overstimulation, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:01:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26619382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lambmeat/pseuds/lambchops
Summary: “What else were they saying?”“Said… that I probably like gettin’ fucked in the ass, because I’m y’er bitch.”Reyes’ hand comes up to sweep McCree’s signature mess of hair to the side, evaluating the nasty cut, examining the bruising around his jaw. Pointedly, McCree throws his eyes elsewhere. He can see Reyes look at him when he does that, but the older man holds his tongue for a moment.“Do you?”McCree scowls at Reyes, cheeks flushed. He doesn’t know how to respond for a second, leveled with Reyes’ deathly-serious stare. Then, ashamedly, he grits his teeth together and turns his head away.“Don’t fuck with me,” he mutters bitterly. He’s never blushed this hard before.“I’ve seen the way you look at me.”
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Reaper | Gabriel Reyes
Comments: 7
Kudos: 72





	saint bernard

At first glance, McCree couldn’t see past his burning hate for the man. Plucking him up out of his own territory as if he was just a stray dog looking for a loving home and giving him the option of a rock and a hard place didn’t necessarily make McCree inclined to like Commander Reyes. Stripped away from his pack, he wore nothing but snapping teeth and sharp wit.

McCree was nothing if not a feral animal, truly a creature of the desert. He doesn’t miss how he’s stockier than many of his ‘peers’, nor does he miss the glances out of the corner of others’ eyes when he stalks around his set parameter. Kept on a leash, he can’t even explore the facility where he’s been displaced. “Probation,” Reyes had explained when he took the lesser punishment of recruitment, “because the big man upstairs isn’t too sure about taking in strays.” 

Commander Reyes didn’t hold too many opinions about McCree, it seemed. Kept his mouth shut, focused on his duties and kept his pet project and charity case in line- as best as he could. It wasn’t uncommon that McCree would end up causing scraps between other hot head recruits, nor was it unusual for combat training exercises to get out of hand when he ignored his cues. Eventually, it led to an almost _literal_ leash, keeping the wild thing within eyesight of Reyes in certain circumstances.

Slowly, the anger looked at other things around him until Reyes wasn’t a point of fixation anymore. First, it was the curriculum for the mandatory school system in place for take-in’s. Then, it was the captains, sergeants, or really any other superior officer that dared try to control McCree. 

There became an inside joke between the higher ups, “beware of dog.”

Reyes pretended not to hear the implications.

Eventually, he stopped snapping at his leash. Reyes became both a background figure and his rock. Whenever something arose, he learned to turn and find Reyes’ dark eyes, already watching the situation intently, and whatever Reyes dictated he could do, he’d do. Whatever got him in trouble _less,_ he’d do. Didn’t necessarily make him any better of a man.

Commander Reyes was also not immune to his insubordination, although he frequently handled such offenses more eloquently than the other officers. Common were indignant looks, direct inaction, and rarely, pointed comments. The man wasn’t blind; he could see what McCree was doing. He’s snapping his teeth and baring them, testing his limits with the pack leader.

“McCree.”

Throwing one more, well-wound punch, he stills. He’s got another recruit by the shirt collar, his dog tags twisted under the fabric, biting into his skin. McCree didn’t strike first, something he’s gotten better at, but he’s gotten no better at _not_ instigating. 

They’ve traded equal blows, except for the cuff at the end that likely rang the other man’s ears. McCree’s nose was bleeding lightly, smearing across his lips as he got off the man and wiped it with the back of his hand. He doesn’t remember the last time his knuckles didn’t ache.

“Come here.”

Glaring at his commander, he barely breaks eye contact as he spits on the other man before stalking over. Behind him, he can hear the other agents helping their friend to his feet and escorting him to the med bay.

Taking his place before Reyes, he levels him with a narrow-eyed glare, challenging him. His commander looks none too pleased with him today, and lets it be well known.

Faster than McCree can anticipate, Reyes grabs a firm hold of his dog tags and yanks him forward. It surprises him, not accustomed to being pulled around by _anyone_ , not even Reyes, and he almost loses his balance as he is forced nose-to-nose with his commander. Whatever quick-witted comment he held poised on his tongue died as Reyes silenced him without a word.

Sizing his agent up, he squares up as if he was going to retaliate in the other man’s honor. There is no way that, this close, Reyes misses the minute change as an inkling of fear creeps up McCree’s spine. McCree has witnessed the other man’s raw power in combat, and felt it restrained in sparring matches. The last place he wants to be is at the other end of the line.

His eyes widen somewhat, just enough that Reyes catches it.

“Know your place,” he snarls, “don’t make me hurt you, _perro_.”

Reyes' hand shifts and tightens his grip on McCree’s dog tags.

His eyes are strikingly beautiful, McCree finds. 

When Reyes releases his hold on McCree, he doesn’t know what to do for a second, startled out of his trance-like state. Slinking away to lick his wounds, he struggles to deal with the curling in his stomach. He thinks he might be dying.

McCree takes to quietly standing beside Reyes where he isn’t put to work. Not quite broken in, but getting there.

Reyes does nothing but bolster his positives in his typical, monotonous praise that makes McCree more prideful than he has any right to be. Perhaps it’s the observation that Reyes hands out more to McCree than any other agent. Regardless, McCree starts to behave less in accordance with what will simply keep him out of trouble, but what will reward him with positive reinforcement. 

Being near Reyes makes him feel powerful, the fact that his commander allows his presence besides him a symbol of authority over other agents. 

The hovering is tolerable, made more so because McCree has abstained from fist fights since he got in the kid’s face about it. But his demeanor shifted, his head kept down a little lower, his eyes tracking Reyes more. Not necessarily fear, but a modicum of respect. Reyes has to remember that he picked up a wild animal, and McCree is not going to respond to any other law. The law of beasts is the only tune he’ll sing for, and Reyes was simply being too quiet.

“McCree.”

When he calls his name, McCree easily turns and looks at him, eyes narrowed and nostrils flared. His anger is not directed at him, and he’s exhibiting his new-found restraint expertly. There are a couple of cocksure agents picking on McCree, taunting him for being the “teacher’s pet” and picking apart his credentials. They’re trying to get a rise out of him, trying to get him to snap, because they know he’s got strikes on his record that haven’t expired yet.

McCree watches Reyes, jaw tight and shoulders hunched, braced. He sees the anger coiling inside him, knows that it’s getting too hot for him to handle, his ignition point fast approaching. 

“Holt,” he then says, not stripping McCree of his gaze, “on the mats.”

A deep sigh fills McCree; his bones crackle with energy, nerves alight. 

The rest of the training room has stopped to watch, slowly circling like vultures, tentatively closing in. Reyes watches Holt stalk over to the mats, the instigator more confused than he ought to be. McCree is almost bouncing on his heels, ecstatic with his granted permission. He hasn’t moved yet, waiting for approval to approach.

Reyes blinks slowly at him, dips his head the slightest bit.

This time, he listens when Reyes intervenes.

“Enough,” he calls, striding towards the duo. McCree had Holt pinned to the mats, trapped beneath his thighs. In the short span of thirty seconds, his agent had gotten Holt to the ground, who was now covering his face in an attempt to minimize the damage, thoroughly whipped. The last ten seconds were purely for McCree’s sake, to let him get his pent up frustration out. 

Rising as soon as the call is made, McCree sighs and shakes his hands out. As trained, he goes to stand before Reyes, awaiting his appraisal. While the one to orchestrate the encounter, McCree isn’t sure that he met Reyes’ expectations. He bites his tongue as Reyes looks him over. 

He didn’t let Holt get a single hit in.

Huffing a laugh through his nose, Reyes smirks at McCree. Proud.

McCree’s face, already flushed with adrenaline, shades deeper.

After a particular stressful mission, McCree escorts Reyes to his quarters per request. They banter on the way, McCree one of the noted few that can carry a tune with Reyes. They’ve grown familiar, McCree now adjusted to a Blackwatch mandated collar around his neck and Reyes as his designated handler. He’s found that the more he listens, the more he plays the games Reyes wants him to, the more leash he gets. 

Like now, Reyes has given him the authority to walk through the west wing, entirely composed of confidential papers, officer quarters, and storage, without supervision. To his knowledge, no agent of his clearance has been granted such explicit permissions. 

It's a power that he’s comfortable with, having been a gang leader prior to his recruitment. The prospect of confidentiality doesn’t phase him, and he’s not pestered by impulses to breach the trust he’s been extended.

Reyes knows that McCree has nothing to gain but personal knowledge if he were to break confidentiality policies and snoop around. He sleeps fine at night.

Approaching their door, Reyes turns to McCree, a smile still on his face from the crude joke McCree just told him. Before unlocking his door with the biometric scanner, he reaches up and squeezes the nape of McCree’s neck, much as one would a dog, and gives him a playful jostle.

McCree flushes, but the hallway lights are dimmed so much that Reyes couldn’t have caught it.

“Keep your nose out of trouble, McCree,” he says, and there is warmth in his exhaustion. “Take tomorrow off.”

“Thanks, boss,” he says after an awkward pause, but Reyes has already slipped into his quarters, the warmth of where his hand squeezed fading.

If he were asked, he’d readily deny it, but McCree has come to find that he enjoys some manner of authority over him-- a coherent, collected authority who has a solid head on his shoulders. Reyes knows what he wants, what his crew needs, and what needs done to get through. He’s a man that McCree can respect and has no qualms with following.

McCree winds up in Commander Reyes’ office on a proposed disciplinary charge. Watching Reyes carefully as he types at his computer, processing the report, he doesn’t speak for a long while.

“You’re lucky your strikes cleared.”

His voice conveys his dissatisfaction. 

McCree doesn’t say anything, trying to remain stockstill. The stitched gash above his eyebrow is tickled by his shaggy air.

The plaintiff for the report was stuck in medbay with a broken arm and a broken rib. While McCree would have been cleared of all disciplinary charges, being the defendant, the severity of the instigator’s injuries versus McCree’s own tipped the scale towards charging _both_ of them.

Sighing, Reyes clicks his pen shut and sets it down.

“What happened.”

Reyes isn’t looking for any stretched truth, any excuses. He already has one side of the story.

“Rogers called me a faggot.”

His commander’s demeanor shifts, just so.

“Him and his gal, Stripes. They, uh… they’ve been doin’ it awhile.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

McCree shrugs, breaking their eye contact to stare elsewhere. Reyes’ eyes narrow, watching the side of his agent’s face.

“What else were they saying?”

“Uh… it… it doesn’t matter.”

“If you want to keep this strike off your record, it does.”

Sighing, McCree shuffles awkwardly. His cheeks fill with color, with shame, and he grows uncharacteristically soft-spoken.

“Said… that I probably like gettin’ fucked in the ass, because I’m y’er bitch.”

“Me?”

McCree nods, and Reyes types something.

“Rogers and Stripes.”

“Yeah.”

They lapse into silence, Reyes filling in all the missing details that Rogers omitted to preserve innocence. McCree rubs at his knuckles and massages his bicep, sore. Eventually, Reyes rises from his desk, rounding it and crossing the space between them until he stands before McCree.

Gingerly, Reyes’ hand comes up to sweep McCree’s signature mess of hair to the side, evaluating the nasty cut, examining the bruising around his jaw. Pointedly, McCree throws his eyes elsewhere. He can see Reyes look at him when he does that, but the older man holds his tongue for a moment.

“Do you?”

Startling, McCree scowls at Reyes, cheeks flushed. He doesn’t know how to respond for a second, leveled with Reyes’ deathly-serious stare. Then, ashamedly, he grits his teeth together and turns his head away.

“Don’t fuck with me,” he mutters bitterly. So soon after he’s been verbally and physically assaulted for his sexuality, he doesn’t think he can stand to handle a cruel joke, even from his commander.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

Warm hands settle on his hips, shocking his system. McCree’s first instinct is to twist away, snap at the foreign feeling, to deny and refuse the tenderness. But then Reyes squeezes his hips through his uniform, soothing and satiating an itch he didn’t know need scratched in him. He’s never blushed this hard before.

“Reyes,” he starts, then stops, uncertain to what he wants.

He doesn’t protest when Reyes presses his lips to his. His commander’s lips are intoxicating, soft and warm and pliant against his. He’s receptive, hungry for more in how he surges forward. When he feels Reyes’ tongue sweep his bottom lip, he shudders, and his stomach starts to warm. 

Unsure of where his hands ought to go, he rests them Reyes’ biceps, kneading the supple muscle underneath. It was foreign-- entirely ignoring the novelty of being intimate with his commander, McCree has never been in any submission position, let alone with a man. It’s not how things worked out in the barren stretch of desert he called home during his most formative years.

Reyes emits a drone, like that of a hungry predator, from deep within his chest. He bites at McCree, who pants openly. Separating, Reyes’ steals a moment to evaluate his agent.

McCree’s beet red with eyes half-lidded, lips shiny with their spit. He’s gripping Reyes like a lifeline now.

“What do you want?” Reyes rasps.

“I-I… don’t know,” McCree murmurs, before clamping his mouth shut as Reyes noses along his jaw, nuzzling his throat, coaxing his head to angle away so he can press open-mouthed and hot kisses to his pulse point. He can feel his heart beating rapidly beneath his lips, mirrored by the light panting.

It’s endearing, how evident Reyes’ affect is. 

“Do you want my cock, Jesse?”

The octave at which he utters McCree’s name makes his cock throb; it’s breathless, husky, and reserved for him in that moment. His brain fails to function for a moment as a wheedling sigh escapes him, hedging the border of a whine. It’s been an idle fantasy for longer than it should have been, to lay with Reyes. However, he’s never considered any specifics, his brain always wondering about neutrals: mutual handjobs, make-out sessions, rutting against each other.

The prospect of being taken by Reyes is quickly becoming appealing.

Reyes’ hands wander south, groping at McCree’s rear and pulling their bodies flush together. It elicits a stifled gasp and a shudder. Pressed together, he can feel that Reyes is half-hard himself. Twenty-one years he’s been on this rock, and no one has ever made him feel the way Reyes’ is making him feel right now. 

“Ah, I...” he falters, wets his lips again, “yeah.” 

The whispered words don't fall on deaf ears. It’s rewarded with a smile pressed against his throat.

“Think you can make it to my quarters?”

McCree only glares at him.

The commander’s quarters were located on the opposite side of the building, but McCree’s patience is well rewarded. It’s within minutes that he’s stripped and laid bare in the middle of his commander’s bed. All articles of McCree’s clothing have been strewn about the floor save for his signature red bandanna, securing his wrists above his head.

Rather pathetically, McCree eeks out a mewl, canting his hips. It makes Reyes’ chuckle, bracing himself with his forearm to look down at McCree and the sorry state he’s falling into. The sound of slick resonates throughout the room just as McCree’s unfettered noises do; panting heavily, he takes everything he can and more.

“Think you can get off like this?” Reyes croons. McCree can only nod, seeming to have lost his voice. Pumping two fingers into McCree, he slows just enough to press a third in. Groaning, McCree strains against his restraints, muscle flexing as he struggles against the foreign sensation overwhelming his senses.

It’s no surprise that Reyes knows what to do.

Massaging his sweet spot, he makes McCree’s leg kick.

“I… please,” McCree grits out, struggling to control himself. He doesn’t want to cum before he gets what he wants.

“Please, what?”

“ _Cabrón..._ ” McCree groans, wounded, desperate. It makes Reyes still, furthering his frustration. 

“Use your words, McCree.”

“I want your cock,” he spits out, glaring up at his commander through his eyelashes, cheeks burning. Reyes, through eyes darkened with hunger, only grins.

“Good boy,” he purrs. McCree squeezes his eyes shut tight as his cock throbs at that. He collects the younger man’s thighs in his lap so that he’s splayed out. His cock twitches, heavy and flushed against his hip bone.

When Reyes frees himself from his uniform pants, McCree swallows heavily. The apprehension is sudden and palatable. It’s only amplified as Reyes pulls his agent flush, and the full length of his cock rests against his stomach. 

The tip rested just beneath his naval. 

Reyes soothes him by petting his thighs, his hips. 

“I don’t think…”

“It will,” Reyes is quick to assure.

McCree idly flexes against his restraints, nods.

“How do you want me, McCree?”

He can’t think for a moment, and he tries to think of all his experiences in the past, what’s been comfortable for his partners.

“Uh… edge of the bed.”

“Stomach?”

“Yeah.”

Gracelessly, Reyes shifts off the bed and drags McCree with him, until he is staring up at his commander with wonderstruck eyes. Reyes returns his gaze with uncharacteristic warmth, almost as though he was proud of McCree in the moment. Reyes is, for the marked expression of vulnerability and trust Mccree is displaying, but McCree can’t fathom what there is to be proud of in that moment. 

Rolling him over, he hitches McCree’s hips up, and takes stock of the little sigh his agent makes merely for getting manhandled. Having done well to stretch him, the residual lube is enough to work with. Reyes still spares a second for more. 

It’s a tentative process, one of patience and reassurances, until Reyes is fully fitted inside his agent. McCree is flushed down to his chest and breathing heavily, unable to stay still despite the strong hands on his hips urging him to.

“Feel good?” Reyes asks, tongue in cheek.

“It’s- _big._ ”

Reyes only hums, pets the dimples at the small of McCree’s back. McCree twists the sheets between his tied wrists, needing something to ground him as his commander starts to move. Slowly, Reyes pulls all the way out before pushing back in, forcing the air out of McCree’s lungs. It’s a foreign feeling, feeling so _full_ and so… controlled. He was entirely at Reyes’ mercy at that moment, stripped of all his defenses and at his most vulnerable.

A little bit like a lamb under a wolf’s tail, McCree resigns himself to it. A terrifying comfort, warmed by the muscle of his commander’s body while existing entirely under the natural law of blood and bone. His hot breath raises goosebumps across his neck as Reyes leans down, blanketing him with his body. Teeth skim the surface, and McCree shivers, shifts, and straightens his legs for Reyes.

McCree doesn’t think he’s ever had sex this delicate, this tender. Reyes breathes deeply as he rocks into McCree’s now-pliant body, slow and steady. 

“Gabe-” McCree rasps, mouth trying to pronounce a forbidden name. Reyes presses a burning kiss to the nape of his neck. The older man hums, coaxing words to his tongue. “I need more. Please.”

 _“Paciencia, cachorro,”_ Reyes croons. 

McCree bites back a frustrated growl, insteading groaning and insisting with his hips, ignoring Reyes’ demand for patience.

Reyes doesn’t take it lightly, quick to give McCree just what he wished for. The insistence of his agent pushing his hips back into him, chasing him desperately, spurred him to be a little rougher, perhaps a little meaner. Straightening just so, getting leverage, Reyes snaps his hips forward and buries himself as deep as he can in McCree’s body. 

It elicits a sharp gasp and a shiver that Reyes patiently waits through before doing it again and again. It makes his fingers curl, the deep ache in his guts each time Reyes bottoms out. It’s intoxicating in a way that it’s a strangely euphoric feeling. He’s sure that if he were turned over, he could see Reyes bulge in his stomach.

“You take me so well, Jesse,” Reyes groans.

“Please,” McCree spits out between punched-out breaths, “Gabe, please.”

He wants everything that Reyes has to offer, even in his inexperience. The novelty of submission is the focal point of his pleasure, the newness of it all.

“Jesse,” his commander rumbles, heavy with warning.

“Please.”

McCree’s voice breaks in the middle of his plea as it warps into a whine.

Growling like a predator over a hunk of meat, Reyes pins McCree’s body firmly to the bed with his hands pinching his waist, hard enough to ache and surely to bruise. He gives McCree everything he wants and more- fucking him in earnest, hard enough to rip whimpers from the other. 

Upper body melting into the bed, rising to his toes, McCree can’t pull in a breath deep enough to groan, low and languid, as he wants. The sensation of Reyes’ cock hitting all the right spots with each thrust is enough to make McCree bite down on his lip and not let go, coupled with the pace- ruthless and unforgiving. The earlier coiling in his gut felt like a live wire pulled taut, sharp and white hot in his belly, threatening to snap. Every movement felt like a shock to his system. 

His cock presses against the sheets and he finds himself rutting unwittingly, seeking any and all stimulation. The movement, however, is stifled by Reyes, whose hands squeeze his waist harder in a bid to ensure that McCree got off on his cock alone. 

_“Mierda,”_ Reyes grunts, _“te sientes bien alrededor de mi polla.”_

McCree manages a swear and a choked-cry at that.

“Gabe- I--” McCree starts, losing his voice as those rough hands picked his hips up and held him steady. What else comes out is just a pathetic keen as McCree’s body locks up, his climax hitting him embarrassingly fast. Reyes doesn’t spare McCree as he cums, fucking him through his orgasm as he greedily chased his own.

He swears he sees God, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he cums. It’s harder than he ever has in his life, and he thinks he might die with the adrenaline wiring his muscles and quickening his heart. Trembling mightily, the euphoria quickly turns to panic as pleasure turns into overstimulation. Crying out, McCree tenses against his binds, attempting to twist his hips away.

Steadying McCree, slowing to a stop, Reyes pants above McCree. Fully hilted and still, he feels heavenly in McCree’s post-orgasm haze, and he moans languidly into the crook of his arm.

“Jesse.” He gets a bleary hum in response. “Can I?”

The question is emphasized when Reyes shallowly rocks into McCree’s sensitive hole. The edge of his orgasm fading, he thinks he can take it. Nodding into his arm, he lazily lifts his hips up for Reyes, who reinstates his grip. 

This time, it’s gentler, his thumbs sweeping over where bruises will show the following morning. When he sets a new pace, it’s softer, mindful of McCree’s exhaustion, evident by his moans. They crackle and break from the strain on his throat, the excessive panting, and wear. Leaning down, Reyes kisses one of McCree’s shoulders.

“You take me so well, Jesse,” he murmurs against his feverish skin. From the breathiness in his voice, he was close, but he still maintained respect for McCree’s body. He wasn’t nearly as rough with him as he just was.

“So good for me,” then, after a desperate groan, “where, Jesse?”

Pulling himself out of his lull, McCree struggles to process the question for a moment, until Reyes whispers his name with more urgency. His hips falter, and he loses himself in his imminent climax.

“Jesse-”

“Inside.”

Growling, Reyes fully sheathes himself in McCree’s heat, grinding in as deep as he can get himself as he cums. Weakly, McCree moans and feels himself blush, suddenly and acutely embarrassed. He was so quick to welcome the other man’s load in his guts, not a second doubt cast before he answered. It felt weird- hot and noticeable even as Reyes delicately withdrew. His cum leaks out, making McCree tense and squeeze his eyes shut in mortification.

McCree hears Reyes tuck himself away and zip up. A firm hand settles on his hip, petting him in reassurance. Then he feels a few fingers trail through what was escaping and press it back into his sore hole. Moaning into the sheets, wet with his drool, he lifts his head to glare at Reyes.

Reyes doesn’t meet his eyes, watching what his hands were doing.

“I’d say you liked it.” McCree’s ears burn with his furious blushing.

“Shut up.” Reyes hums at that, lifting his eyes finally to grin at McCree. He leans over McCree’s body, pressed flush against him, to reach for his bound wrists. The feeling of Reyes against him makes him simmer down just so, the breath being sucked out of his lungs. He dips his head to press his nose into McCree’s hair. McCree lifts his head up into the contact like a cat. 

One hand skillfully undoes his knot without glancing away, while the other hand comes to cradle McCree’s neck. The scowl on McCree’s face melts away as Reyes coaxes him to maintain eye contact with him. Reyes’ eyes are warm again, fond, but McCree doesn’t shy away from it this time. The paramount level of trust McCree displays for not only submitting to Reyes in the first place, but for taking his load and still looking him in the eyes after- it makes Reyes feel a little fuzzy inside, an exceedingly rare feeling.

“Take the rest of the day off,” Reyes says after a moment, straightening to stand behind McCree, “I need to finish the report.” The sudden switch in tone makes McCree frown, but he doesn’t say anything as Reyes pets his back and squeezes his ass idly, refusing to move away quite yet.

“There’s food in the fridge, have at it,” Reyes says finally, pulling away and straightening his clothes, “just don’t make a mess.” Out of the corner of his eye, McCree catches, Reyes turning his wrist over to look at the time. 

Stretching his arms out, working the tension from them, McCree looks at him in confusion.

“You’re welcome to stay, Jesse, if you want to. I’m not going to force you to.” Reyes approaches the door, air of normalcy around him as though he hadn’t just fucked one of his agents in his personal quarters. It’s staggering the different states the encounter left them in. 

“I’ll be back at eleven.”

McCree can only nod dumbly, watching the door shut behind Reyes, chest warm and a lopsided grin on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> TRANSLATIONS:  
> perro - dog (derogatory)  
> cabrón - bastard  
> paciencia, cachorro - patience, pup  
> mierda - fuck (expletive)  
> te sientes bien alrededor de mi polla - you feel good around my cock
> 
> supposed to be a little drabble, turned out longer than i expected. inspired by a comment on my last mcreyes piece:
> 
> "I would love to see you write blackwatch Reyes when he first recruits Jesse and how the latter gives in to being submissive and tries hard not to let his sudden crush be too noticeable"
> 
> super happy with how the characterization came out in this one, had a lot of fun with it. my favorite trope is feral character gets broken in and turned submissive :3 all comments and kudos are greatly appreciated !!


End file.
